


idiot central

by sneakygoat



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, One Night Stands, Smoking, the lady leaves early on, this is short but :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15426702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakygoat/pseuds/sneakygoat
Summary: "As the phone rings, he’s sucking down another cigarette like it's Ryan Reynolds fucking dick. It's nice, a little tangy, though."





	idiot central

**Author's Note:**

> hi I never write for these two, even in the unfinished shit I've got laying around, so if they're too ooc, I apologize. theyre aged up, of course
> 
> also, this wasn't even a South Park fic at first, I wrote this about a year ago and in second person, not third (so if the tone is weird, that's why). I just changed the pronouns and some other shit, but mostly it's unedited from the original work.
> 
> I know it's short and choppy but i love this little piece I wrote and I want others to like it too. anyway have fun reading! 
> 
> p.s. there's a lot of cursing in here just because of who I am as a human being

"Tell me I'm good," Clyde says. It seems to shock her. "Please. Please tell me that I'm good and all you'll ever need." She sputters for a second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five, six, seven, eightninetenelev- 

"I... I need to go,” she mumbles, gathering her things and making a quick exit. This kills him. It proves that he actually is not good and all she'll ever need. So much for those post-sex cuddles. Then he remembers he met her an hour ago and doesn't even know her name. He can't blame her for leaving. He never blames them for leaving. Besides, what kind of freak asks their one night stand that? (Oh, yeah. He does.)

Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair and tugs on it a little. A lot. Kinda hard. Okay, very hard. Ouch. He should stop doing that. He decides to grab that oh-so tempting pack of cigarettes instead of ripping all of his hair out. He steps out on to his shitty balcony that's attached to his shitty apartment. 

When he takes that first puff, it takes all of the stress off of his shoulders. He loved it. Fuck those commercials, at least he got to feel good before he dies of cancer or some shit. He relishes every inhale and exhale. Yeah, fuck those commercials, what do they know? Maybe he could be a total badass and put his cigarette out on his skin. It (very) lightly touches his skin and OUCH FUCK SHIT- no, he is not a badass. He pretends that didn't happen and that he isn't a complete dumbass. How cliché, anyway, to do that. What kind of idiot does that? (Oh, right, he does.) He takes another cigarette out and decides it's a chain-smoking kind of night. Especially after embarrassing himself in front of that girl. Another booty-call ruined. Well, meant to be booty-call. He can get another one. Or maybe he could call his long time friend and fuck buddy and ask him if he's good and all he'll ever need. Yeah. That's a good idea. 

As the phone rings, he’s sucking down another cigarette like it's Ryan Reynolds fucking dick. It's nice, a little tangy, though. His friend answers on the fourth ring. Nice, the last time he called him, he answered on the eighth ring. 

"Dude," Craig groans into the phone, "it's four in the morning." 

"Shit, is it? I could've sworn it was 6pm like an hour ago," Clyde says, and Craig huffs out a laugh. It's raspy. 

"What do you want, dude?" he asks, but they both know what he's calling for at four in the morning. 

"Oh, I was just thinking we could go to Chuck E. Cheese's, eat their shitty pizza, and play in the ballpit or something," he says, and Craig chuckles quietly over the line. He likes that laugh, it makes his stomach flip.

"Alright, I'll be over in ten," he replies and hangs up. Good. This is good. Clyde decides to greet him naked. While he's waiting, he brushes his teeth. No one likes kissing an ashtray, after all. In exactly ten minutes, he knocks on the door and comes in. Clyde runs to greet him and Craig’s familiar hands find their way to his ass. 

In the middle of the two fucking, he asks two questions,

"Am I good? Am I all you'll ever need?" 

Craig bites his thigh and growls at him to shut up. Tears spring to his eyes. He shuts up. He thinks he loves him. 

The morning after for him is always the best. He's happy that Craig is still here. Usually he leaves by morning, depriving Clyde of his need for sappy romance. He doesn’t wake him, though, not yet. He makes breakfast instead: pancakes, eggs, bacon, juice. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror that was precariously placed in his kitchen and smiles. He left dark marks all over Clyde’s neck and chest. A blush forms over his cheeks and he whisks the eggs a little harder. It'd be difficult to hide them when he went to work later, but he doesn't mind.

He pulls Craig out of his bed, he only agrees because he smells the bacon and eggs. Clyde liked seeing him scarf down the food he made for them. His hand reaches over and clasps Craig's, his thumb moves in small, soft circles. 

"Hey," he says, "Let's date. Me 'n' you." Craig looks at him and smiles. Clyde is almost one hundred percent sure he's died and gone to heaven.

"Okay, let's date," he says and Clyde’s euphoric. He leans over and kisses his newly decreed boyfriend. He feels his warm hands on his shoulders. For the first time in a while, he feels whole.


End file.
